Sunset
by SilverEmerald-DAS
Summary: Riku's spent half his life so close to Sora, and yet so far. What happens when he tries to initiate something with such an innocent boy? RikuSora intimate scenes.


**This is a shounen ai/yaoi fic. It contains sexual relations between two members of the male gender. Riku/Sora pairing. If that doesn't float your boat, STOP NOW.**

That said, I _really_ adore this fic! Pointless little (okay, really really long) Riku/Sora story, probably a one-shot, though I am willing to be convinced against that! . Based on an early scene from Ruaki's _Synonymy_ that I would have liked to see go further...

This story's a lot of firsts for me: 1st KH fic, 1st yaoi fic, first written in the first person, and first written in the present tense.

I've actually been thinking about writing a companion piece to this, of the same plotline but from Sora's point of view.

Can you believe I'm 16 and a virgin? XD

**Japanese**  
_tenshi_ -angel  
_sora_ -lit. "sky"; also a character name

_iie_ -no  
_hai_ -yes  
_-sama_ -honorific. highest level of respect, usually reserved for lords, gods, and masters  
_-kun_ -honorific. usually used for young/younger boys (or tomboys), and shows a degree of respect and often affection  
_-chan_ -honorific. often used for young children, or among very close friends or lovers. can also be a derogatory between enemies as it indicates a lack of respect

And there's one more, but it's rather self-explanatory.

I do not own Riku or Sora; they are property of and (c) SquareEnix. ...Oh, and Kairi is too.

_Sunset_ and all other content (c) K.A. Towers, aka DAS-chan—ME!

**-x-o-x-**

Another day, another sunset.

"Sure is beautiful, isn't it, Riku?"

I smile, gazing out over the ocean that glitters with diamonds beneath the fiery orb and the pink painted sky. "It sure is, Sora."

The two of us lay sprawled on the roof of the shack, side by side, reclining on folded arms, knees up and crossed in front of us. I smirk at that, glance over at the young brunette to my left. I was here first, of course, when the red-golden sun was still high in the sky. The boy came later, not yet an hour ago, fell immediately into mimic of my current position. His bright blue eyes—vividly, vividly blue—are wide and shining, tinges of pink sunset reflected in their crystalline depths. A cool sea breeze ruffles his scruffy brown hair—framing a face so young, so innocent and sweet, even though I know he's only a year younger than me. He smiles as he lays there, completely without meaning to, a tiny dimple forming in his cheek. My lips part in a grin, and I remember all the years we two have spent together, the best of friends, always laughing, always competing, always _fighting_—and never staying angry any longer than a minute or two. He's a wonderfully sweet kid, this Sora, and I allow my expression to fall back into normalcy as I look back into the watercolor sky, my thoughts still washing over him...

He reminds me of a puppy. I have to suppress a laugh, realizing how appropriate that analogy really is. He's sweet and cute for one thing, always bouncy and full of energy. For another—he's always following me. Always. Now and forever on my heels, following my example, learning what I do, then running with it, and challenging me. Always challenging me, trying to prove himself—and seeking recognition, seeking my approval with those wide, wide eyes of his. I always shut him down, of course, I never lose a duel—but it's getting harder. He's become stronger, these past few years. He's truly formidable now, every battle's a true challenge—and when he looks at me with those eyes...

"Riku?"

I blink, almost jump in surprise as that voice shocks me from me reverie. Look over to those bright blue eyes, and his grin—that big, childish grin that always makes me want to laugh, that always puts a tingle in my belly—and listen as those tan lips ask me, "Not dozing off, are you?" His grin is wider than ever, one eye closed in a continuing wink.

I roll my eyes, not even allowing a smirk to show. I'm so stoic sometimes, honestly. "Of course not. I was just thinking."

"About what we'll find out there?"

A long silence follows that question. _No, Sora, about what's right here—and what I'm taking with me._ But I won't say that out loud, not to you, _especially_ not to you. And I refuse to lie to you.

So I don't answer.

Sora's used to that, to me sinking back into my mind whenever I'm asked a question that does indeed require careful thought. So, he asks a more careful—and more direct—question. "What _do_ you think we'll find out there?"

"I don't know." It's the truth, and that's what excites me so very much. Not knowing... "But it'll be something we don't have here, probably don't even know about, and that's what makes it worth the trip."

My eyes are still upon the sky, but I _feel_ Sora smile next to me, as if the whole world got a little warmer and brighter. "So that's why you want to go. To get away from here."

I blink. Look over at him, my best friend. That statement felt very deep, somehow, coming from him, especially the _way_ he said it, but... How could something like that come from the mouth of so naïve, so innocent a boy? "Well, sure, Sora... I guess I kind of do want to get away."

His eyes shine with a depth I have never seen before, and his smile cracks his mouth open a bit. "To get away from it all..."

"No, Sora. I don't want to get away from you."

Impossible as I thought it was, those wide eyes of his widen a little more, and he looks over at me in curiosity and surprise. Oh dear gods, what emotions could I possibly have let seep into that last sentence? As a cover, I grin and roll up onto my elbow, holding my cupped hand over his chest. "Best friends forever, right?"

His grin returns, brighter than ever, and he slaps his palm to mine, each of us gripping the other's hand in a pact. "Definitely," he agrees.

I smile down at him, lost in the perfect beauty of that face. His eyes are drowning pools, his skin soft and tan, the cuteness of that rounded nose inescapable... and the softest tinge of pink upon his lips...

I feel my own lips part just slightly at the sight of them, inadvertently lean a little farther over him, holding our clasped hands to my chest...

"Riku?"

My gaze snaps from those lips to his lovely eyes, confused and curious and just a little uncomfortable. Lovely eyes... What, Sora, am I too close? Or am I not close enough...

For the love of all gods, how wide can those eyes possibly get? We are almost nose-to-nose now, and those blue lamps are like saucers, puppy eyes, doe eyes, quivering wide and shining full of fear. Sweet boy, what are you afraid of? You can't possibly be afraid of me, never, you have to know I'd never do a thing to hurt you... But those eyes show only fear, fear of what I have no clue, and his breathing is ragged, form stiff below mine, his fingers trembling in my grasp...

But I'm so close, Sora, so very close; I can see the creaminess of your skin even more clearly from here, and though my eyes are locked on yours, I know your perfect lips are currently positioned just beneath mine—do they tremble like the rest of you?—I can taste the honey on your breath, tenshi, and something in me is aching to have that flavor fill my mouth—

Then my eyes are closed, the space between us covered, and I'm kissing him.

Oh, sweet nectar—not honey, I was wrong, he tastes too young and thin and pure for that—

Before I know what has happened, I'm on my backside on the shack, eyes open, lips exposed to the cold air, hand no longer holding his. And Sora is scrambling away, hands feet and backside like a crab, eyes not so wide but more fearful—and sad now, somehow, though not a fiber in me can give reason for why. "Riku..." My name sticks in his throat, fear and sorrow and confusion and—embarrassment?—making that usually melodious voice sound weak and watery. I want him to say something else, anything else, so I can know I was wrong, hear his voice sound like magic again, not thin and frail and terrified—

But no more. Not another sound passes those perfect lips, those sweet pinked tan lips whose pouty quiver even now makes a fire burn in my loins. A long silence stretches between us, like a chain—no, chain only if attached to two sides of an invisible stone wall, for neither of us pulls away, yet I feel that no amount of effort can bring me close to him, at least not now. We stay like that, stare for what seems centuries into each other's eyes... What does he see in mine? Can he see my longing, my _pain_ that he would refuse my first advance, as I see the fear in him that I made one?

Look away, Sora. Please. I cannot take my gaze from your beauty, but I feel as if I look into those eyes another moment, I will die. You're killing me, Sora. You're killing me. Making me drown in the fact that those gorgeous eyes are full of fear, that _I_ am the cause, my young angel, my puppy is afraid of _me_... And for the first time in sixteen years, I am the one to look away from another's tight-locked gaze.

I hear fabric shift, the hollow clunking of his shoes upon the boards alerting me to the fact that he stands now. But I cannot look at him again, I _won't_—More clunking, and I realize he has turned away, is about to leap from the shack—and a sudden fear springs into me, for a moment I panic, cry out—

"Sora!"

Now our eyes are locked again. I sit still, unmoved from where he pushed me, looking up at he who stands. Just as well, I frightened him unduly, I deserve the position of lower beast.

My fear left as quick as it came, but the source, ah, no, that is still here, and I know as I look into his sapphire eyes that my own are filled with sadness now, with longing, desperation—and a silent plea. He looks back, no longer frightened because he is no longer in danger, oh gods how I love the swift bravery of the innocent...

"Don't tell anyone."

I see his jawline shift as his teeth close together, he is setting his jaw, those delicate lips form into a pout—gods, defiance, I know it so well in him, please no—and I know of a sudden that fear flooded my eyes in those moments, for his own soften—my hands are so clammy—Sora, _say something_—

His jaw set, eyes now fixed and determined, glaring down at me—he nods. Once, curtly. Then he is spun on his heel, leapt off the shack, and running down the beach, running for his boat. The word 'puppy' again comes to mind, as I observe his obvious speed and agility, mixed with the gangly flail of limbs that belies the lurking hint of grace, the all-but-obvious fact that one day he will be a strong and speedy wolf, gorgeous against the moon.

I sigh, releasing a breath I had no clue I held, allow myself to fall back to the shack. It's getting dark. I'm going to miss curfew again.

_That's more than fine with me_, I think. _Better a chew-out from Mom than face Sora again tonight._ I pass Sora's dock on the way home, you see. What, you think I would not know the place in which my angel lives?

**-x-**

Another day, another sunset.

_Sure is beautiful, isn't it, Riku?_

_It sure is, Sora._

Sigh. I want that conversation back again. I want my _puppy_ back again...

I've been calling him that a lot recently. Inside my head, I mean. I've never called him that to his face, never, and especially not now, who knows how he'd react...?

It's been weeks since the last time we lay here together, and Sora's been avoiding me. Weeks since he's come close enough to touch. Weeks since he's graced me with his smile, weeks since he's let me see a twinkle in those blue, blue eyes...

Weeks since I first tasted those perfect lips of his.

I shift my weight quickly, uncomfortably, trying to get rid of the painful ache suddenly throbbing between my thighs. How, _how_ does he do that to me? Every time I see him anymore, every time I pull up the image of his face, I remember the feeling of his soft lips beneath mine...

I jolt, shift again, crossing my legs this time to try to force that feeling down. Damnit, this is insane! _Learn to control yourself, Riku_, I berate myself angrily, which is a new experience for me—I've never called myself by name before. Oh, to be sure, I've always—has it been always? I certainly seems so—had a fondness for Sora. More than a fondness, while I'm being totally honest with myself. An attraction. I've always been drawn to him, always felt much more comfortable the closer I was to him. When we were young, we used to lie outside together on the docks, with my arm draped over his shoulders and his wrapped securely around my waist, and we'd watch the stars track overhead. Back then, it was purely innocent: Sora was my companion, the little brother I never had, the other half of me. I admired his sweet bravery, his kind determination, his innocent defiance of authority—and I basked in the light he cast on me, the level to which he raised me with his childish adoration. Sure, I'm the best fighter on the island; yes, I'm the oldest that still comes here; I'm the bravest and the strongest—but I don't deserve Sora's hero-worship. He's so much better than I am at so many things. Not physical things, no, it goes deeper than that—he's a better person than me. No doubt, no doubt, he's the light among us two: I wasn't truly innocent even as a child, and at fifteen he's still as pure as a twinkling star. Yes, his radiance, his naivety, his purity all attract me like a moth to the proverbial flame—but it is his untainted beauty that keeps me near. The creamy tan of his skin, his round, childlike face; the way he moves, talks, laughs with unbridled self-confidence and innocent grace; the childlike speech spoken with a voice heard elsewhere only in heaven—and those eyes, those gorgeous, azure-sapphire eyes that hide nothing and tell everything, showing his heart and soul to the world with a diamond-glittering trust. Yes, I have always been drawn to those eyes. And as I lay here, staring into the reds, oranges and pinks that only make me long to see them again—I realize, with a sudden clench of my gut and quickening beat of my heart, that those eyes are the reason I fell in love with him.

"Riku?"

I cringe. Kairi. "Hey," I answer without looking at her. Why, Kairi, why now?

"I need to talk to you."

About Sora, no doubt...

"It's about Sora..."

_Not now!_ Don't you understand, Kairi! I _can't_, I can't talk about him right now! Especially not to you...

"What about him?"

"Well, I'm worried about you two. It seems like you've been avoiding each other lately."

That's a load of dung and you know it, Kairi, _Sora's_ been avoiding _me!_ He's been avoiding me, and it's _killing_ me...

"I haven't noticed."

She sighs. Exasperation, sadness, helplessness, all of the above; I can't tell—"Riku, please. I can tell you miss him..."

You'd better be able to tell I miss him! He's all I can think about, damnit, every moment he doesn't talk to me is a knife in my heart, every time he avoids my eyes is slow tortured death—

"What are you talking about, Kairi?" There's even a little laugh in my voice. "How can I miss somebody I see every day?" _Because all you can do is see; he won't even touch you anymore..._

"You know what I mean, Riku." Of course I do, Kairi, can't you see my pain? Can't you tell it's torture for me to lie here and talk of the boy I long to lace fingers with, long to hold in my arms... I'll let him win the next time we wrestle, really I will, if he'll only touch me again...

"And he misses you, too."

I blink. Shock takes me; I honestly have no answer to that. He _misses_ me? He can't... why would he shut me out...? It doesn't make sense; I don't understand, don't know _what_ to think...

So I sit there, unmoving, unblinking, and I don't answer.

"Riku..." She kneels beside me, her hand falling lightly onto my shoulder, and I stiffen; I hate being touched out of the blue like that. I _hate_ it, Sora's the only one I'll allow to touch me...

"Riku, _what's wrong_?"

I don't know if it's the question itself, or the fact that the pleading tone in her voice mirrors the pain in my own soul, but my defenses crack a little at that. I look up at her, straight into her eyes. She gasps, and I know why: my usually strong eyes, the eyes that I know always glint with a smirk no matter what I'm feeling, that _always_ intimidate anyone who looks at me—save Sora—now, I'm certain, she sees in them my suffering, my sorrow, my _longing_—and I can't tell you, Kairi, I can't _tell_ you what's wrong, because...

"Riku?"

Because I know you love him too.

I blink, and force my eyes to glint again, paste a grin onto my face. "It's nothing, Kairi. Sora and I just haven't had a lot to talk about recently." Gods, I almost lost it there, my voice nearly cracked when I spoke his name... "Don't worry. It's no big deal." Liar, my heart screams at me, liar...

"Riku. You know you can tell me these things, right?"

What the hell kind of question is that? "Of course, Kairi." There's that laugh again, rolling through my words. "Why wouldn't I?"

She doesn't know, I see that in her face too, and without answer she rises to her feet. "See you tomorrow, Riku." Her voice tries to be cheerful, but falls audibly short—sorry Kairi, but you're not nearly as good at hiding your emotions as I am.

"See you tomorrow, Kairi."

The girl pauses at the edge of the shack. Will she jump, I wonder? She's a lot braver than most of the girls around, but definitely no tomboy. After a moment's hesitation, she turns and opts for the door and the stairs. I smirk after her. Not as brave as I thought, maybe. Sora was never afraid. I jumped off before anyone else; I was five. Perfect landing, too. And then Sora jumped after me, and we discovered how big the difference really was between four and five.

He'd landed wrong, and broken his ankle. I remember the fear that shot through me in that moment, as I heard that sickening crack, and my angel screamed with a pain and fear that scored knives into my mind, heart and soul. The brightest light on the island was weeping, and whether merited or not, I made it my fault. I'd picked him up, despite my weakness in youth, and borne him with great struggle back to his boat. Taken him home, gotten him help swiftly as I could—and stood with flushed embarrassment as everyone told me how good I was, praised my heroism—no, no, you don't understand, you're all wrong, it was _my fault_, I was just cleaning up my own mess—

But then Sora had smiled at me, and when _he_ thanked me for helping him... That's when I'd truly felt heroic.

I said before that I've never had to deal with this sort of thing before, and it's the truth—Sora and I have always been together, he's always been near, never hesitant to take my hand or strangle me in a hug. But now... Now, it's been so long since I've touched him, and all I can do to make up for it is remember, remember the last time I touched him... When I kissed those lips...

And the throb is back again; I almost cry out with the pain of it. My hand twitches; I know I could easily be rid of this pain, and no one's around, I'm the last one on the island, my boat sloshing forlorn and alone in the wobbly waters by the dock—No!

My fingers twitch again, and I bring my hand up and bite it to suppress the urge. I won't do it, I won't do that thing the older kids all used to talk about, before they grew up and moved on and probably continued to do it anyway—as much as I want to, as much as my body screams for it, I won't. Let me suffer, that's fine, I'm suffering anyway, being alone—and I won't use such measures to relieve my pain. Let me ache, let me throb, let me burn for the touch of skin on skin—I haven't done such a thing yet, and I'll die without having done it if Sora refuses to touch me again. Because the first time—_our_ first time—I'll wait. I want my first release to be with him.

**-x-**

Another day, another sunset.

"Sure is beautiful, isn't it Riku?" I mutter bitterly under my breath.

"It sure is, Sora."

I all but jump in shock, my eyes widening as that voice of music tinkles like Christmas bells in my ear. I look up, and there he stands: all scruffy hair and gangly limbs, his right arm limp at his side as his left hand rubs it nervously. His eyes are bright, but not glittering, dulled a bit by the hint of embarrassment. Still, I can't help the sudden joy that wells in me at the sight of him, and the wideness of my grin almost makes my cheeks ache. "Sora."

He blushes, shoulders hunched just slightly. "Hi, Riku."

His innocence entrances me, and my grin relaxes into a comfortable smile. Scooting a bit to my right, I pat the roof beside me, hoping he'll sit close. He hesitates, and he does seat himself near, but not as close as I had hoped, and he faces me rather than the sunset. My disappointment must show upon my face, because he has those puppy eyes again, and he scoots a few inches closer despite himself.

"What's up, Sora?"

Why've you avoided me so long?

"Well... nothing, I guess, really."

"How've you been?"

I've missed you.

"I've... been okay. You?"

"Not bad."

Did you miss me too?

"Riku?"

"What is it, Sora?"

Will you talk to me about it?

"I... I have... something to ask you..." He doesn't look at me; he tugs nervously at the loose end of his shoelace.

"Go on."

I promise you can tell me.

He hesitates, doesn't say anything. I want to prod him on, urge him to say something, but... I don't want him to feel forced, _I_ don't want to force him—anything he has to say, he'll say in his own time.

"Riku... what... why...?"

Hesitation again. Should I answer? Will he finish the question? Should I _ask_ him to finish it? Turns out I don't have to.

"Why'd you kiss me, Riku?"

My heart stops; my throat closes. Whatever question I'd been expecting, that wasn't it. "Sora..." What do I say to that?

"Riku?"

Should I come right out and tell him? I love you Sora, I love you, I've loved you for years and didn't realize it, couldn't admit it, and these last weeks without you have been killing me...

"Sora..." My voice catches; I feel tears burning in the back of my throat, threatening to rise up and seep from my eyes... "I can't—"

"Riku."

Fingertips brush the palm of my glove, and I jump; his hand clasps quickly around mine—

"Riku, please tell me."

He's leaning in close, bright eyes burning into mine—there's a fire kindling in the hollow of my hips—his eyes are so blue, so blue—begging me to tell him, begging me to kiss him—_No!_ I can't, I won't drive him away again—

"Riku..."

My eyes snap down to the part of him that made that sound, those lips, pink and tan and slightly parted—I begin to salivate for the taste of him—one kiss, just one—

_NO!_

"Sora..." I choke out, turning away, "I can't—!" And I'm pulling my hand from his grip, on my feet, leaping from the shack—

"Riku!"

I'm sorry Sora, but I can't, it's not in me to say those words, those five words that burn in my heart and choke my throat, sear daggers through my mind—

_It's because I love you._

So I run.

**-x-**

Another day, another sunset.

Not that I can really tell in here.

_Sure is beautiful, isn't it Riku?_

My hand runs absently over white carvings in stone. Comes to rest over one in particular, and I smile despite myself.

_It sure is, Sora._

This one's my favorite. The first one Sora and I ever did together. Serpent, and warrior...

I'm in our Secret Place, the small cave hidden by the waterfall where as children we would scratch crude pictures into the walls with stones. Been here since before dawn, wanted Mom and Dad to think I'd just gone out to see my friends... They'll have left by now; off on some trip to who-knows-where, left me alone for a week. Maybe I'll just stay here tonight... stay here, and stare at the walls...

The fingertips of my glove trace down the slender neck of the creature I once drew... A great dragon, tall and dark and spewing flame, great wings unfurled against the sky... And down its strong and stocky forelegs, in a line with its claws, to the armored war-wager standing bravely at its feet.

Sora had drawn that, the metal-coated knight, and drawn it damn well for being seven and unfamiliar with the simple drawing tool of a crude, sharp rock. Right after I'd finished my serpent, my black angel of death and destruction, Sora had snagged the stone from my hand and leapt into motion, scrawling an opposition to my creature of the night, a warrior of justice to my monster of despair, a silver-clad archangel to my demon of hell.

And truly, that's what Sora is, is he not? The light, to my darkness? The purity, to my taintedness? The diamond to my obsidian? The angel... to my demon. He's the perfect sunrise to chase away the midnight shadows, the moonlight breaking through the clouds. He is the silver blade that pierces the heart of the shadowbeast, yes, the mere thought of him makes my heart sting; a boundless ocean of joy rolls in his blue, blue eyes—the only water that can quench the fire burning in my loins.

Without a second's hesitation I leap to my feet and make for the exit. No, I can't stay here tonight, too many memories of Sora—Listen to me, I'm talking like he's dead. Well, he may as well be, the demons of my mind hiss in my ears. I sigh. After all, running off on him like that, when he made the effort to seek me out... Doubt he'll ever talk to me again.

-

The door swings to with a creak and a click behind me. I glance about the dark kitchen, knowing full well all the foodstuffs for the week are waiting patiently in the fridge—but I'm not hungry. I just want to go to bed, even though I'll most likely spend a sleepless night watching the moonbeams track across the ceiling until daybreak.

And then what? Do I dare brave the island for the second morning in a row? I was lucky today, I know I was—how I ever thought I'd be safe in the Secret Place, fool, that place is Sora's secret too... Even Kairi sometimes goes there...

No, I won't test my luck again. Tomorrow... Tomorrow, I'll just stay here.

And with that thought in mind, I ascend the steps to my bedroom. The moon has risen; white light falls in bands across the hall from each of the east rooms. Mine is on the end, last room on the right, with windows facing both east and north. Coolest room in summer, warmest in what around here can be said to pass for winter, and always bright, by moon, sun or star, for I always leave my curtains open.

Shoes in hand, I pass through the open door, letting the moon bathe me in the soothing rays that pour through the open window. I toss my shoes that way, hearing them clang pleasantly off the metal desk positioned there, turning right to make for my safe haven of a full bed.

And freeze.

Which arrested my attention first, I wonder? Was it the bright yellow shoes carefully set beneath my writing table, knocked askew by my own footwear? Or was it the bare toes, caught by moonlight, dangling from the edge of blue sheets? Both struck me at once, perhaps, and I stand now motionless, both images swirling in my head, along with streams of moonlight and the glitter of blue, blue eyes.

"Riku?"

And at the sound of that voice, my heart starts again. "Sora."

He slips from the bed, toes automatically wriggling into the plush grey carpet. "I—I missed you today."

My heart is drumming in my chest, how did you get here, Sora, and before me?

"I'm sorry to come in like this, Riku." There, again, like so many other times, the boy seems to read my thoughts. "But I didn't see you all day, and, well..." His arms are crossed behind his back, shoulders hunched, toes of his right foot fidgeting with the grey threads below them. He's nervous, moreso than I think I've ever seen. "...Your door wasn't locked."

For some reason I blush at that, perhaps embarrassed that my parents have no caution, perhaps that I hardly noticed when I came home—or perhaps that I allowed Sora to come so freely into my home, when I've spent so much time trying to come up with a way to lock him from my heart.

He looks up at me, again with those pleading, heartbreaking puppy eyes. "Riku?" Damnit, I can't stand it when he does that, those wide, shining, gorgeous eyes are purely _impossible_ to resist...

"Come on, Sora." I step forward, place my left hand on his back between his shoulders, guide him gently to sit with me on the bed. He doesn't move away, doesn't flinch when I touch him, as I had expected—Rather, he _relaxes_ when I touch him, as if waiting for that sign, waiting to know—what, Sora?

"Riku, why weren't you on the island today?"

"I—" No, it's no use, there's no way I can lie to him. "I was. I was in our Secret Place." Our.

"Oh." He blushes. "I—I didn't think to look there." He's lying. I smirk a little at how bad he is at it, how his ears resemble a traffic light...

"Sora." It's all I have to say.

His blush goes pinker, his neck scrunches down into hunched shoulders, and he fidgets. "Well... Actually, I... I didn't want to go in there."

"Why?" I think I know... but I have to be sure.

"I..." There is a long pause. I pretend to wait patiently, but inside I'm burning for him to say something. "I... didn't want to look at our drawings." I don't say anything, but the question 'why?' again pours into him from my eyes. "I—I didn't want—Riku, do you hate me?"

Shock. No coherence. Just shock. How? Why?

"What?"

"You—you don't, do you? Please don't hate me Riku, I just—" I hold up a hand to silence him. My mind is spinning; how, how can he think—?

"Sora..."

"Riku, please, I didn't mean to run off on you, but—I—I was scared, and I just—And then you ran off on me, and you have to have been mad at me, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry Riku, but please don't hate me, Riku, I'm sorry—" This time it's my gloved finger across his lips that cuts him off. His eyes, blue and wide and terrified, stare up at me, pleading, begging, desperate for acceptance. I remove my hand, and his lower lip begins to tremble, fright and tears threatening his face. My vision clouds as tears well, and my throat sticks when I whisper his name.

"Sora..."

There's a beat, a pause, a second that stretches the limits of eternity and threatens to rip asunder every fiber of my soul—and my eyes smile, though with all my force of will I cannot carry it to my mouth, and I open my arms wide.

He dives into them, almost knocking me from the bed as he hungrily and desperately attaches himself to me. His face is buried in my shoulder and he sobs, his whole body heaving. I feel a dampness soaking slowly through my shirt—tears, warm, bittersweet tears, and I hold him close, rocking slowly back and forth. His fists clench in the fabric of my shirt as he cries, and as glad I am that he is so fearful of losing me, my heart breaks a little more with every sob that racks his slight form. My leather-bound fingers slide into the warm softness of his hair, holding him to me as I stroke gentle circles on his back with my other hand.

Eventually, his crying slows, the sobs fewer and farther between. His grip on my shirt softens, his breathing deep and slow.

"Sora..."

And he tenses up again, fists clenching once more, forehead firmly buried in the hollow below my right collarbone. He's waiting, yearning for the words, needing to hear them, or die, and I can't deny him the truth that supports his soul...

Stroking my hand through his hair, resting my chin atop his head, I promise him: "I don't hate you, Sora."

His grip on me only tightens as he presses himself deeper into my chest. "R-really?" he asks around a hiccup.

I instinctively wrap my arms around him and return his hug, holding him close. "Of _course_ I don't, Sora." Put my hands on his shoulders, push him back so he can look at me. So I can look at him. His eyes are glimmering with tears and gratitude and a thousand other nameless emotions, his face soaked with liquid sorrow and relief. I reach out, and with my left thumb rub the sadness gently from his cheekbone. "I could _never_ hate you. Because..." My throat closes up again; why, _why_ is this so hard to say? "Because..." But I have to say it, I must, I'll be lying just by staying silent, and if I don't tell him my heart will burst in two—

"It's because I love you."

Shock shows upon his face, his tears sinking back into those wide eyes. My gaze downcast, I pull away, scooting back along the bed until my spine presses the wall, and I pull my knees to my chest and hug them. I don't know what sort of reaction I expected from him, honestly I don't, but for some reason... the reaction he gave stabs a poisoned dagger into my heart. Shock, no more—so he doesn't love me then.

"Riku?" I look up at him; there's a fear and sadness in his eyes, a gentle and innocent confusion. "Riku... I don't understand..."

"I meant just what I said, Sora." There's an angry contempt laced venomously through the sadness in my voice. And for some unknown reason, I have no desire to restrain it. "I _love_ you." Funny how different those words sound in my new tone, and it is the sound of them that softens me. My voice cracks. "I always have. In some way or another."

His doe eyes look confusedly into mine: still he does not understand. I sigh. I don't want to explain—I haven't admitted half this stuff to myself, much less to my angel—but I know, if I have any hope of... of... of _anything_ with him—I have to tell him everything.

"I used to think of you as a brother, Sora. A long time ago. And I guess I still do, but now..." I rest my chin on my knees, my gaze locked on a random crumb from something I ate here in the last few days. "Now I think of you as something more."

The mattress shifts; Sora's bare knees come into view inches from my feet. I glance up: he's kneeling in front of me, watching me curiously. Listening. I smile at him. After all, that's what I want most right now: for Sora to be silent, and listen.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" His eyes widen, he looks away; his cheeks are a deep but rosy pink. I can't help myself; I reach forward and cup his chin in my hand, turn his face so he will look at me again. Those blue lamps glow into my soul, and for a moment I forget what I was going to say. I swallow carefully, smile at him. "I mean it, Sora. You're gorgeous."

I can feel his face heating up even through my glove, and I smile at him. But he's getting uncomfortable, so I release him, and he instinctively straightens up—leans away from me. A vague smirk twitches at a corner of my mouth: he's still a bit frightened of the whole idea of the two of us. "It's okay." I rest my chin on my knees again. "I understand. But I do love you, Sora. I love everything about you." He's looking away again. Rubbing his arm as he always does—nerves, and embarrassment. But I've started, I've started and I can't stop—"I love the way you move, the way you talk, the way you dress. I love your confidence, your determination." He's getting pinker all the time, embarrassed, scrunching his neck as if he's trying to pull his head back into a turtle shell. "I love your laugh, I love your smile. I love your eyes, your blue eyes, and I love that little dimple your grin makes in your cheek." And there it is, that sheepish grin, and the mentioned dimple forms in his lightened cheek. Gods, my heart swells at the sight of that grin. Every molecule of me is buzzing with happiness, and I allow him to see the love in my eyes. "But what I love most of all, Sora—more than anything I love your innocence." A pale pink flush paints itself a shade darker across his cheekbones, and I smile. "I mean that. You're sweet, and you're pure, and for the life of me Sora, I adore it."

A silence washes warmly into the room now, comfortable and pleasant. It is not the stark, stiff 'what do I say?' of the moments following our first kiss, nor the lonely 'I miss you' of the pauses between sentences that day he sought me out. That day... was it only yesterday? Oh well, it matters not, for neither is it the eternal silence that made the distance from that time to this stretch back into creation's dawn. No, this is the silence of a comfortable nap in the softest of beds; the silence that falls with the first snowflake of the season—the silence, warm and comforting, of the moments just after sunset when the first stars begin to wink overhead. I gaze at my tenshi, and he smiles, pink-cheeked gaze fixed downward as he fiddles with the edge of the neatly folded, lint-picked cover. A blushing eternity rolls upon us in waves, and this is all I want: to gaze, close enough to touch and so without need of contact, upon the innocence chiseled smoothly over his cheeks in sliver-thin tendrils of moonlight.

Isn't it?

As if on cue to that thought, as if I shattered eternity with that wayward question and prodded on a change of scenery, Sora sighs and flops back onto my bed, arms folded lazily, comfortably, behind his head. "So Riku... have you done any more thinking on what sorts of other worlds we'll find?"

I shake my head a bit, still caught in the now-shadowed beauty of his face. "No, actually." It doesn't even occur to me how juxtapositioned that question is to our last conversation—for our last, now, is not an exchange of words we just had: it was an exchange of thoughts, of souls, perfectly clear and understood and accepted. "I really haven't."

"I kinda wanna meet some pirates."

I laugh at that. I can't help myself. Of all the things he expects to see!

And his sheepish grin returns again, a familiar apologetic glint sparkling in sapphire eyes. "Well, I mean, come on Riku, all the fairy tales we used to hear—well, what do you wanna see then?" Indignant, now, are we? Only makes me grin wider.

"I wanna see a dragon."

"Wow, Riku—d'you really think there are any?" His eyes are wide; it's obvious the thought's never occurred to him before.

"I donno." I turn and flop back beside him, between the boy and the wall, and this time, hands behind my head, _I'm_ the one to mimic _his_ position. "D'you really think we could ever meet some pirates?" I grin over at him, and he rocks my way, bumping his elbow into mine.

"Ha-ha. Pirates are a lot more likely than _dragons_." Are you challenging me, Sora?

"Oh yeah? Well, I think my dragon's gonna fry your pirates alive."

"And I think my pirates are gonna shoot your dragons right out of the air! BOOM!" And his elbow conks off mine again.

That's it, I think with a grin. Game on.

I roll up onto my knees, and my fingers are suddenly wriggling into his sides, the most ticklish spot on his body. A squeal of laughter bursts from him before he can stop it, and his hands fly up to attack my stomach. No, no, I'm so ticklish there, Sora, stop! But all I can do is laugh, and instinctively tickle him harder. He squirms and squeals and giggles back, swift fingers flying over my belly. I'm almost bent double with the laughter, but I refuse to let up.

Our war wages for many minutes, advantage passing now to me, now to him, but being the one upright I have the upper hand. Finally, with a loud squeak and a burst of giggles, he pulls his whirling digits back from my torso and clamps his arms around his belly, hands to his sides. "Okay, okay, Riku, stop, you win!" he gasps between maddened laughs.

Obediently I let up, grinning at my victory, falling back to the mattress beside my victim, both of us panting from delight and exertion. Gods, how I use to love this when we were young.

"I'll beat you yet, Riku."

Was that a memory, or was it a modern promise from the here and now?

"You were close, kid." A little aftershock of a laugh rolls up my spine and escapes my mouth. "I almost thought you'd won this time."

"Really?"

I look over to lock my gaze with two glittering sapphires, and grin. "Really."

He beams, so bright I at first have the wild thought of shielding my eyes, but no, no, I cannot break visual contact with the radiant angel lying only inches to my left.

For a few moments I only lay and look at him, basking in his inner glow. He is so perfect, so lovely... Slowly I reach out to him, curve my pointer finger into a knuckle, and stroke the second joint over his cheek. I repeat the motion, and again, and he blushes. "Sora," I begin, watching the supple leather of my glove caress his creamy skin, "why did you come here tonight?"

"I... I missed you, Riku." He's blushing again. Not lying, but there's something else he's not telling me. I don't press it, though, and continue to stroke his cheek.

"Won't your parents get worried?"

His blush pulses almost red for a moment, and he breaks eye contact with me to cast an inquisitive glance to the mattress, seeking counsel as to whether to say what he means to say. "My... my parents think... I told them I was staying overnight."

I freeze, my knuckle stopped just above his jawline. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is sticky; I swallow hard—"You... told them... What?"

Sora blushes, shifts, contracts a little, looking as though he wants to curl defensively into a ball in attempt to deflect my inquiries. "Well, I didn't want them to worry, and..." Then his eyes meet mine again, can probably see the shock and wonder and fear in them—shock, that he'd say he was staying over when he thought I bore him hate—wonder, that that means some part of him never doubted my love—fear, fear of all the things running in my head, fear of all the things that could happen, here, the two of us, together, all night, alone.

And a sadness seeps into his gaze; he reaches up and softly grasps my gloved hand, pushes it back toward me. "It's okay, Riku. I guess I'll just go..." He braces himself with his right hand, pushes himself up, rises slowly and turns to go—

And my hand snaps to his wrist, catching him before he can lift the final flesh of his fingers from the bed. He looks back at me, and I gaze up at him, lain prone on my belly and chest, vulnerable and exposed and privy to his next whim. As before, those many weeks ago, I am the lower beast staring up with frightened eyes at the sad gaze of my blue-souled angel—but tonight, the fear is not of discovery, not of him staying the heighten my embarrassment—tonight, it is the fear of him leaving.

"Don't."

He hesitates.

"Please Sora—tenshi—don't go."

A beat, a pause, a fractioned second of hesitation that screams my soul into the black abyss of forever—and a smile quirks one corner of his mouth. He moves back toward me, and I sit up, unconsciously pulling him closer. As he settles back onto the mattress, my grip slides up his wrist to clasp his hand in mine again. I pull them to my chest, so he can feel my heartbeat drumming against the back of his hand. He fidgets uncomfortably—why, sweet Sora, why does my need for you make you so nervous? His fingers wriggle in my grasp, but I can only hold him tighter; his other hand reaches up, presumably to pull at the hold—yet my other hand snaps up and takes a hold of it, holding it close to me as well...

Those eyes. Those eyes, Sora, how can I make you understand how much I love those eyes? For now their dark, dark azure glistens in the moon rays' feeble attempt to reach back this far and stroke his face—feeble, feeble for they cannot touch his skin, only his eyes, only his bright, bright eyes. There is a hint of fear floating on the unstable surface of those eyes, a hint that tries with all its minimal might to cover his other emotions—for his eyes are not wide, not filled with the terror I saw in him the last time I came this close. No, they are round, soft pools that glimmer and shine, not with only fear but with—what? What is that, hiding teasingly below the surface of those eyes? I lean in closer, hoping to fill my whole gaze with his gentle doe eyes, thinking perhaps I can break the surface and learn the name of that emotion, dive into his soul and read the name in the weaving seaweed tangled at the bottom of the ocean of his eyes...

Whether he recoils, pulls away or merely loses his balance I do not know, but in the next instant he is falling backward to the mattress, and I follow. Not as close, somehow, I have no idea why—but I can see his whole face now, can take in the pure creamy loveliness of his features, and even as the back of his hand is pressed over my heartbeat, mine is now pressed over his, as our hands are clasped between our flush-lain chests, and his pulse races even faster than mine. We breathe in tandem, panting at the same pace, our breathing pushing us apart then drawing us together, as we roll over the waves of the ocean, the surfless bay, the turbulent sea of our souls. He trembles, likely remembering the last time we touched like this... His lips quiver, tan and perfect and slightly pink even in the shadow-dim light that shrouds us in its grasp. I can feel the need, the burning, the desperation is back again—those lips—I need—

Before I can stop myself, I've closed my eyes and dived down to capture his lips with mine. His breath catches, he's frozen, trembling, hands in a death grip on mine—I press gently closer... Oh, Sora... please don't be afraid...

I feel the cool and crystal liquid begin to form beneath my lashes; he's so afraid of this, afraid of _me_, and as I don't want to hurt him, I begin to pull away—

And his lips twitch. Once, just barely. I freeze, trembling now as badly as he, sweat building against the insides of my leather gloves—and his lips move, purse, press back against mine—

For the love of the gods, he's kissing me.

A dam, of sorts, bursts inside of me at that realization. My heart does a drumroll in my chest, my blood sings with happiness—the dull ache I've felt in my gut explodes, blossoms, filling me with a warmth I've never known before. I'm dying, I'm dying with this fire igniting my skin, superheating my blood, melting everything inside me—and I've never been this happy. How can anything feel this good? Dying doesn't hurt, I'm not afraid of death, for lying chest beneath my chest, hands clasped to my hands, lips pressing back upon mine—I will go to heaven, for here there is an angel who loves me.

I softly break the kiss, gently pull away. We're both panting again, breath stolen by the other but stolen breath bringing us no air. My eyes flutter open, cold tears making a sad attempt to hold them shut, to gaze upon my tenshi. His eyes are squinted tight closed, his lips pouty and quivering, a bright flush accentuating the heat radiating from his skin. He's so innocent, so _frightened_ of being with another boy, so much that he won't look at me. But somehow, that does not sadden me—rather, it endears me to him all the more, and I lean down to place a gentle kiss upon his cheek.

Oh, dear gods.

I have tasted his lips before, but never his skin. Not only is it creamy to the eye and touch, it is creamy to the taste—and that flavor makes me burn with the need for more. I place another kiss—and another—another and another I trail swiftly across his cheek, wanting to taste more and more of him... He whimpers when my lips caress his neck, and my tongue slips into the kisses so as to taste his flesh the better. The kisses trail down to the hollow of his throat; he hisses in a breath, inadvertently pressing his chest closer mine; my tongue flicks over the skin of his neck, up along his jawline—again he whimpers, afraid of this searching touch. How, how can I calm you, Sora? By this time my kisses have made it to the corner of his jaw, where it curves up to meet his ear—and on pure instinct I align my canines and sink them into his soft earlobe, hard enough I can almost hear a click as they meet, but soft enough I know I won't break the skin. He moans.

That loud, deep, rumbling sound of pure ecstasy vibrates into my chest from his and I nearly growl in the pleasure of that sensation. Removing my canines from their grip upon him, I turn slightly to reposition, closing my incisors over the soft sweet flesh instead, and begin to nibble. He shivers, muscles relaxing beneath my weight as he finally—_finally_—settles into my touch.

As silky as his skin is, however, it is nothing to the sweetness of his mouth, and I crave that again. Deftly I release his ear and capture his perfect mouth, running my tongue over his lips. He whimpers for the third time tonight, lips shifting to press soft kisses to the tip of my tongue. Panting with hunger, I release his right hand and slide my own out from between us to cup his warm cheek. Damn these leather gloves... Wait, now his hand too is pulling from between us, and his muscles are stiffening again—I panic, no Sora please, don't push me away—

Soft fingertips gently caress the nape of my neck, automatically loosening all tenseness in the muscles coiled at the top of my spine, before a warm hand slides up to tangle in my hair. I gasp, just a little, the kiss broken and my eyes rolling back. Oh, Sora... And his muscles are relaxed again too, it was only nerves, he worried that I'd dislike this touch... Oh, never, Sora, gods how do you excite me so completely with such a simple gesture? His fingers curl and uncurl, stroking along my scalp, combing gently through my hair. Occasionally one of his nails scrapes along my skin, and I pant at the pain-but-not-pain that tingles over the back of my head. My cheek nuzzles his in thanks for this amazing sensation, for I'm breathing too heavily to show my gratitude with a kiss... Lips brush my ear, and almost before I realize it his warm, moist tongue has run back once, gently, behind my earlobe. It's my turn to moan, and I fairly quiver as I do. "Sora..." He's panting very softly in my ear, and I turn my head to lay a kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Sora..." I need to touch you... Damn these gloves! I lean up with an angry growl and pull at the zipper of my right glove with my teeth, biting into the back to yank it off. Tossing it aside I brace my weight onto my right hand, intending to tackle the left glove now—but a second zipper has already sounded, cool air caresses my skin—nimble fingers have removed that glove as swiftly as two smaller, lain them all aside—and are now sliding over my palm, or the back of the same hand. I hover, motionless, my eyes upon the warm fingertips sliding along my skin, stroking, caressing. Surprise holds me in place as I trade my glance from our hands to his face. His gaze is locked on my hand, a barely-focused moisture quivering in those pools. Not tears, not really, just the liquid of unfocus, as if he finds it difficult to watch my hand, but impossible to look away. And still his fingers trail and search, exploring every curve and crease with utmost fascination. I smile—I don't know why—and my gaze brings his hands back into my sight. The hand that remained frozen under his touch now moves, curves, gently grasps his palm between the thumb and fingers—and I lean in, eyes slipping shut, to kiss the tip of his left index finger. He is the one frozen now, left hand limp in my grasp and right lain warm on the back of mine. I kiss the finger's pad next, then the side down by the joint... and finally take the whole thing into my mouth, tongue stroking the length of it almost of its own accord. I suckle, licking, somehow entranced by the feel of this. My lips kiss the base by the knuckle as I suck, then slowly begin to slide the length of the digit, back and forth, back and forth. My tongue teases the cuticle. His palm feels hot, sweaty beneath my thumb. I open my eyes to look at him. He seems—confused, maybe. Not frightened, not uncomfortable—but not wholly comfortable, either. My lips release him with a smacking sound, and I smile as I lean in close to him. His next intake of breath is sharp, perhaps frightened—he pulls back a fraction of an inch—and moans again, as my teeth, tongue and lips caress the side of his neck, gently nipping at the little rise of tendon by his ear. His left hand closes on my thumb, and I feel the cool-warm wetness I left on his finger lubricate the grip he has on my hand. Right hand grips the back of my left, and I strengthen my hold, our three hands tangled in a lovers' trust as my right awakens from its rest to stroke along his cheek.

I continue to nip and lick at his sweet soft neck, and panting he makes a sound almost like a muffled hum. It rumbles into my mouth through the flesh of his throat, and I growl happily, almost purring with this sensual delight. This boy... he _is_ my little taste of heaven, my savior, _my_ angel—mine. No one else can have him. Not even Kairi, I'm sorry for that, I really am, I know she loves him as much as I—and I laugh aloud, once, at that thought. No one loves Sora as much as I do. No one.

"Riku...?" His voice is a trepid whisper with phoenix song laced in every undulation of his throat, and that my name should be the word that melody makes causes magma to all but boil in my lower regions. But it was a question, curiosity, and I realize that he heard my laugh, and wants an explanation...

"Shh," I whisper into his ear, before running my tongue through the short maze of curves surrounding the opening. "Hush, tenshi." I kiss from his ear down his jaw to his chin. "I'm going to take care of you tonight." Before he can answer, before he can protest, I lock my lips onto his and dive my tongue into his mouth. He gasps, sucks a breath in deeply through his nose, almost cries out a little against this intrusion. But the magma is burning, every foray into his mouth makes it burn hotter, and as much as that sensation is naught but blinding pain I have no want to stop it, nay I want it to hurt more, want it to burn through me and straight into him—and so I delve, deep into his mouth, tasting everything I find there. The sticky roof clings to my tongue like honey, his cheeks taste less of cream from the inside and more of cocoa; his teeth are slick mints, the almost gooey flesh that holds his tongue oozes the flavor of summer sun—and his tongue... The tip of mine slowly laps the length of it, drawn erotically to every taste and texture. Again I stroke from base to tip with my own appendage, and again it clings desperately to the surface. Then, oh heaven of heavens his tongue moves, turns, presses against mine—and all but massages it, stroking rhythmically back and forth, inviting me to explore the halls and regions of this mouth, and immediately I comply.

As I explore, his chest presses and ripples up against mine, billowed from the uneven panting that sends streams of warm air over my cheeks from his nose. His left hand untangles from mine and pulls around to rub along my spine, following the subtle waves and pulling me softly closer. He is warm against me... But I know his bare skin must be even warmer... So my hands travel down his chest, following the curve of his waist down to his hips, and my fingertips slide beneath the fabric onto his skin... He gasps sharply, breaking our kiss for his panting. I kiss his jaw instead, his cheek and neck and even his ear once more as my fingers rub up his hot skin, my thumbs, hooked over the fabric, pulling his shirt up as I go. Finally my fingers brush his collarbones, and I bunch his shirt in my fists and pull, slipping his clothing over his head and tossing it uncaring to the floor.

And there he lies, half-nude radiant angel, his ambient light glowing up to bless my eyes with the sight of him. His skin is silky, soft and supple beneath my searching touch, and I lower myself over him so as to nuzzle his chest with my lips. He whimpers a little in protest, but a stroke with my tongue and a nip with my teeth changes the sound to one of pleasure, and he brings up both hands to tangle in my hair.

Melting in the warmth rising from his skin, I trail slow kisses over his chest, to... I pause, gazing at one of twin pink dots that break the cream smoothness of his flesh. I blink almost curiously at the small peak, surprising myself with the stupidity of merely staring like this—and close my eyes and kiss it. His chest heaves with his sharp inhale, and he gives a small cry, like a dove. I feel a smile creep onto my face, and without considering bring my hands sliding up the sides of his ribcage. With my thumbs I draw lazy circles around his nipples, swirling in close but never quite touching. He coos again, half a whimper mixed in this time. His hands clench in my hair. It hurts, but I'm not going to stop him. I like knowing I have such an effect on him, nearly without trying. And besides, there's some erotic pleasure in the rough tug tingling along my scalp. I draw the circles a little lighter, a little swifter, and he tugs harder. My clothing puts a very unwanted pressure on the need growing in between my thighs. Straining subtly but forcefully against his grip, I lower my head to his chest and take his nipple in my teeth. He yelps outright, involuntarily yanking at my hair, and I deliver a warning growl. The pull recedes, though his grip refuses, and my tongue teases the tan-pink tip as I roll it back and forth with my teeth. It's taut, as I knew it would be, a drastic change from the yielding softness my mouth touched before. My still-circling thumb brushes over the other one, teasing the stiffened peak with repeated strokes flicking back and forth. There's a grimace in his panting; I'm hurting him, I know this, but I can't stop—he's hurting me too, after all, what with the tug on my scalp and the ache in the hollow of my hips. Still, I force myself to ease back, if only slightly, releasing his teat from my teeth and nuzzling it with kisses instead. His panting is smoother, almost calmer now, and what a moment ago were fists are now massaging my scalp, ruffling in my hair. I sigh, release him, move on, my lips exploring his belly now. My once-teasing thumb is at rest, the hand stroking lazily over his chest and the curves of his ribs. He sighs, breathing deeply, fingertips rubbing gently through my hair. In my exploration I discover his belly button, kiss it once, twice, three times, test the depth with my tongue. It's a little deeper than I thought, and the salt of sweat tickles my taste buds when my probing recedes.

And I've reached the bare skin's limit; for now, there's nowhere for my mouth to travel but up. I return my attention to his lovely face, to once again nibble along his jawline. He sighs in what can only be called ecstasy, and one hand slides down from my scalp to massage all tension from my neck. I move down as well, slowly lick his adam's apple. He purrs, that's all there is for it, and that sound causes me to quiver with joy. Yet I know he has not yet realized what my hands have been doing this whole time—not until he hears the trill of unzipping metal and feels that rush of cool air whoosh downward onto his hidden skin.

**_-And here I apologize for the fact that ff-net sucks. The link to the lemony-filled version is in my profile.-_**

Several minutes pass. A sweet, warm haze hangs over the pair of us as we lay, blissfully intertwined. His breath whistles long and deep past my ear, his warm chest rising and falling beneath my weight. I myself am panting onto his neck; his body comforts mine—and all I want is to lay here, at one with my angel, warm and peaceful forever.

He sighs; his arms snake around my waist, wrap across my back, holding me close. I slip my own beneath him in return, my hands splayed on his shoulder blades, pressing my skin flush to his. "Sora-chan..." I whisper, bury my nose in the little dip of his neck.

He nuzzles his face into my hair, palm of one hand moving to rest upon the back of my head. "Tenshi."

My eyes widen; I push myself up a little to look at him. He smiles, his eyes are bright. Then they slide closed a bit, and leaning into me he presses his lips to mine. My eyes follow suit of his, and we share a kiss, warm and soft and full of love.

When his lips break away from mine, I see his eyelids flutter—and then he shivers, and his fingers tremble. I tip my head quizzically. He looks up, blushes. "It's cold," he explains with that apologetic Sora grin.

I smile, move to pull back to reach the covers—and realize I'm still inside him. He flinches slightly. I feel my face heated in a blush of my own now. It just felt so—right, the two of us together, that I hardly remembered we did not share a single body. Again I place my hands on his hips to keep him still, pull myself very gently from him. He cringes, bites his lip. As I pull completely out, I gasp at the pain of leaving him, and my angel gasps as well. My arms give out; I fall to my right, landing beside him on the mattress. His face turns toward me and I shift closer, bestowing a kiss upon those pouty lips. He returns it, but shivers again, and I force my limbs to bear my weight, pushing myself up to grab the sheet and blanket coiled at the foot of the bed. I throw them over us, laying myself once more at his side, wrap my arm and the fabric across his chest and pull him to me. He shifts, rolls, turns his back to me, pressing his spine to the center of my chest. His arms lay over mine that now wrap his torso, holding him flush to me. My thighs straddle his hips; I rest my cheek atop his ear. Exhaustion, of a sudden, washes over me. Content with this feeling, the closeness I have to the Sky—to heaven—I drift toward an easy sleep.

His voice, however, stops me: "Riku-sama?" My heavy eyes blink open; I nuzzle against his hair to show I heard. He hesitates. "I..." There is a struggle. He swallows heavily, doesn't continue.

"Tenshi?"

His eyes blink innocently down, long lashes trembling. "Riku-sama..." Another moment, and then: "Aishiteru."

My eyes widen; my heart swells. Oh, how I've longed...

I squeeze my arms around him, hug him tighter, closer, leaning in a bit to rub my cheekbone over his. "I love you too, my radiant angel. And I always will."

**-x-**

Another day, another sunrise.

I awaken nude and alone, the bed still warm beside me. Blinking I sit up, look toward the east window—and find Sora, sitting naked atop my desk, his skin pink and gold in dawn's first rays.

"Sure is beautiful, isn't it, Riku-sama?"

I gaze at him, a bliss in my heart and so likely showing upon my face. I don't care, though. Not anymore. I'll never hide my emotions again, not from Sora. My eyes take in his blushing flesh, the pink twinkle in his azure eyes, and the innocent way he sits there, knees pulled comfortably to his chest. His face turns, the smile that brightened the sun now focused upon me. A pink balloon expands inside me; I'm filled to brimming with the image of this boy, and he's mine, my love, my own. And there's nothing that will ever change that. Gazing still, I beam at him, admiring his perfect form, the urges I've felt for weeks to touch him whenever he was near suddenly nonexistent, as if they'd never been, for his eyes chase away the shadows.

"It sure is, Sora-chan."

For now, all I can do is stare.

_-Fin-_

**-x-o-x-**

-smiles and sighs- I feel all warm and fuzzy now. Hee. Anyone else feel warm and fuzzy? -snuggles Sora and Riku-

Review?


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